


I've been laying down in the devil's lair

by dontbitethesun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anti-Possession Tattoos, Croatoans, M/M, The End!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbitethesun/pseuds/dontbitethesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a fallen angel to do when his fearless leader fails to get him killed? Join the army, apparently, or at least what's left of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've been laying down in the devil's lair

**Author's Note:**

> The military parts of this story were primarily inspired by Justin Cronin's The Passage and Season 1 of Stargate Atantis. This plays with the idea that the future from The End is cyclical, so it's kind of an AU blend of 5.04 that veers off from 5.22. Some things match up to what happens in 5.04, a few things intentionally don't.

Sam still says yes. Their first try to put Lucifer back in his cage fails. They don’t get a second. Dean thinks he knows where Lucifer's going, that this is going to end where it started, but when he gets to Stull Cemetery, there's no one there.

He waits for hours. After a while, Cas waits with him. When dawn starts to brighten the horizon early the next morning, Cas takes Dean’s hand and leads him back to his car.

“They’re not coming here,” Cas says, letting Dean wrap his arms around him with a sigh.

"We're not giving up," Dean whispers against Cas' skin.

“We don’t have to,” Cas answers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Within a month, the Croatoan virus is sweeping the world. The angels leave, or they die. Dean doesn't care and Cas can't always tell. Michael's death is the only one he knows for sure - in his inferior vessel, the fight between him and Lucifer only levels Detroit, not half the world.

-

Dean is hesitant about Camp Chitaqua. Bobby and Chuck are left to convince him because Cas is too high to care where they go. Cas is the only one who knows what Chitaqua means to him because they’ve been fighting over Dean’s little jaunt to the future ever since he found a bottle of prescription painkillers secreted away in Cas’ duffle bag.

“It just feels like giving up,” Dean says.

“How can one place make that much of a difference?” Bobby argues.

“Dean,” Chuck says, “it’s our only option.”

After a sidelong glance at Cas, Dean sighs and says, “Alright. If we have to, we’ll go.”

-

Dean manages to track down the four rings of the horsemen again. Cas knows exactly how Dean found out where they were but he’s in no position to comment. He and Dean haven’t been together for a long time, so he just pops another pill and pretends he doesn’t care what Dean does.

Dean’s plan for one last hurrah is going to get them all killed. Cas knows this, but he signs on anyway. He’s pretty sure everyone else knows too, but either they’re still willing to follow Dean wherever he leads them, or they simply know they’re running out of options. Bobby disappeared six months ago and their rag-tag group of hunters and refugees has been dwindling ever since. They haven’t saved a single new refugee from the hot zone in nearly a year.

So when Dean takes the rings to face Lucifer one last time, the rest of them do whatever they can to buy him time. It’s a last ditch effort, but Cas has died for Dean once already, he might as well do it again.

Cas is dimly aware of the bullets flying around him and the Croats falling under the assault of the gunfire, but he stands transfixed amidst the chaos, staring up at the top of the building. Lucifer stands there, arms crossed across his chest, an amused smile twisting Sam's lips.

Behind him, he hears someone shout, "Get the fuck down, asshole!" It’s a voice he can’t place and it breaks him out of his reverie. He finally notices one of the Croats is closing in on him.

 _Shit,_ Cas thinks right before a bullet rips through his upper arm and he collapses. He stares up at the blue sky, sure that the Croat will be on him in a matter of seconds. He’s equally sure that it was Chuck who shot him. “Fucking Chuck,” he mumbles just before everything goes black.

-

He wakes up in a bright, white room. He's groggy, and his shoulder aches, but he's surprisingly not dead.

"What happened?" he manages to croak out.

"So, funny story," Chuck answers, "I shot you."

Cas groans and narrows his bleary eyes at Chuck. "Yeah, that part I remember."

"Right, you're in the army infirmary," Chuck answers. "Apparently the military aren't such bad guys. They’re been camped out at an air force base in the middle of the Kansas hot zone."

"The army?" Cas was under the impression they shot first and asked questions later.

"Yeah, they turned up right before the Croats could finish us off and helped us out. I know Dean really hated them, but since he's missing in action and all, we didn't exactly have much of a choice. Besides, do you have any idea how much toilet paper they have here? And don't even get me started on the toothpaste."

Cas doesn't mention Dean. He'd figured after seeing Lucifer alive and well and smirking down at him that Dean had failed and he wouldn’t be coming back.

"Anyway, I brought you a journal and a pudding cup. As a, you know, sorry for shooting you present."

"What am I supposed to do with a journal?" Cas asks testily. The pudding cup, though, he eagerly takes. It’s been months since he last ate this shit and he’s developed quite a sweet tooth.

Chuck just shrugs. "It was the best thing I could find. Besides, you're thousands of years old. Write your memoirs or something."

Cas draws instead. The pages are unlined and mostly clean. He fills them with devil’s traps and sigils, recreates the banishing sigil he’d carved into his own chest. He starts the anti-possession tattoo on Dean's chest he'd traced with his fingertips a hundred times. Or at least, he tries to, but his hand shakes and he can't finish it the way he remembers. So he changes it just enough to finish the drawing. Then he draws a hundred new ones. The integral design is always the same, offers the same protection, but not a single one looks like Dean's.

Risa swings by, in a pair of gray camo fatigues. “The soldiers are getting pretty desperate,” she says. “They’ll take anyone who can shoot straight. You should join up.”

“No thanks,” Cas answers, shading in the prominent symbol of an angel banishing sigil. It’s just a relic now that there isn’t a single angel left on Earth. Powerless, just like him.

“Suit yourself. Luckily, they wouldn’t take Chuck. They put him to work in the mess instead, inventorying cans of food. Did you hear his spiel about the toilet paper?”

Cas keeps drawing after he gets out of the infirmary.

Drugs are hard to come by on the base, but he manages. He trades his designs for whatever’s available. The idea catches on. Soon half the base - mostly the soldiers, but some of the refugees too - have anti-possession tattoos. It's only a small measure of protection, since it does nothing against the Croats, but it doesn’t stop them from lining up one after another to trade him drugs for his drawings.

Cas sees Risa and some of the other members of Dean’s resistance around, wearing fatigues and totting guns. There’s only a couple hundred soldiers left on the base and no one else is coming, not this deep into Croat territory. Cas tries to stay away from the military, even Risa and the other guys he knows, but his tattoo designs have made him recognizable.

One day when he’s eating lunch in the mess, a couple uniformed men that Cas doesn’t recognize sit down with him.

“You’re Castiel, right?” one of them asks. “Strange name.”

Cas ignores them, hoping they’ll leave him alone.

“There's a rumor going around that you used to be a guardian angel,” the other guy adds.

“There are no such things as guardian angels,” Cas answers, rolling his eyes.

“Because the thing is, Cas – can I call you Cas?”

“If you must.”

“The thing is, Cas, if you _were_ some kind of angel and you helped us out, we could set you up with the good stuff for a long time.”

“You’re talking –” Cas prompts, looking up.

“Narcotics, alcohol. Whatever you want, we can get it.”

This is probably pretty iffy business, but Cas doesn’t care. He hasn’t cared about much since he got here. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

-

Apparently, all they want is to draw some blood in a big, secret, underground lab. Cas never knew this place existed. He hadn’t even heard rumors about it. He figures the heavily armed guards standing at the passage leading down to it probably have something to do with that.

The soldiers from the mess introduce him to Dr. Whyte. She looks too young to have a PhD and far too clean to be in the middle of Croat hell compared to the other refuges with her short blond hair and a neat lab coat that comes down to her knees. There's an adolescent boy sitting in a lab chair behind her. He looks somewhat familiar.

"I remember you," the boy says, frowning. "You tried to kill me. With a big knife."

Right. He's a few years older, but Cas places him easily now. Jesse Turner. The fucking antichrist.

"Shouldn't you be in off in the Bahamas or something, hiding out?" Cas asks, nonchalantly.

Jesse glares at him. “I came back to help.”

“Help?” Cas asks.

“They draw my blood and compare it to other kinds of blood,” he answers. “I’m immune to the Croatoan virus.”

“Lucky you,” Cas says.

Jesse frowns. “You might be too. That’s why you’re here, right? Cause you’re an angel.”

“I used to be,” Cas corrects.

Cas sketches with his free hand while Dr. Whyte draws his blood. He keeps his eyes off the bright red liquid slowly filling the vial. It’s just another reminder of all the ways he’s different now. Human.

“What’s that?” Jesse asks, coming over to look at his drawing.

“Abyssinian devil’s trap,” Cas answers without looking up.

“What’s it do?”

“Keeps demons trapped in one spot.”

“What if they smoke out of their bodies?” Dr. Whyte asks, who’s been shamelessly eavesdropping.

Cas answers, “They can’t. Not from this baby.”

She pulls out the needle and caps off the vial. “Can I keep this?” Dr. Whyte asks, fingering his drawing.

“Sure, whatever,” Cas says, sliding it towards her. “Is that all?”

“How do you know it works?” Jesse asks.

“Because I designed it. Four thousand fucking years ago.”

“Wow,” Jesse says. “Also, you shouldn’t swear in front of me.”

“It’s the end of the world anyway. What does it matter if you learn a few curse words now?”

“It might not be,” Jesse says, completely sincere. “We could still stop it.”

Cas lost that kind of faith a long time ago. “Keep believing that, kid. For you, it might just work.”

-

Jesse walks him out.

“I want to show you something,” he says on the way, turning Cas down a different corridor. They pause at a thick iron door with two guards posted at either side.

On the other side of the door, a cacophony of noise greets them. There’s a row of cells with small, barred apertures offering a look inside. Cas glances in the first one and immediately recoils.

“They’re keeping Croats here?” he demands.

“For samples,” Jesse answers. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Cas isn’t so sure, but he follows Jesse down the corridor to the last cell, labeled Subject 13. Inside, there's a women in her thirties wearing dirty clothes, with long, matted hair that might once have been blond.

“Is she a Croat too?” Cas asks, surprised. Unlike the other Croats who are raging in their cells, she's staring off into space, tracing designs on the metal walls with her fingertip.

Jesse nods. “She's my mother.”

“She’s different from the others,” Cas says.

“She was possessed for nine months. Somehow, my… father made her blood different. Special.”

She turns towards his voice and smiles serenely for a moment before baring her teeth.

“I tried to wish the virus away,” Jesse says. “It didn't work.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

“We’ll just have to find a cure instead.”

-

The next day, Dr. Whyte finds Cas in the library. “Do you think you can reproduce this on a large scale?” she asks, holding out his drawing.

“Yes?” Cas answers.

“Then come on, we’re in a hurry,” Dr. Whyte explains, catching the sleeve of Cas’ shirt and pulling him away from his book. “We tried on our own, but we couldn’t figure out all your symbols.”

Dr. Whyte leads him down not to the lab, but to one of the underground cells, walking fast. This one’s bigger than the others, with a few chalk lines from Cas’ trap already drawn in and one symbol that is completely wrong. Cas scuffs it out with his boot.

“Do you need anything else?” Dr. Whyte asks, nodding towards the chalk.

“No,” Cas answers, and gets to work.

“This'll hold just about any demon,” Cas says smugly when he’s done, brushing off the chalk dust from his fingers against his jeans. “Who’s it for anyway?”

“We managed to capture a demon from Lucifer’s inner circle. I don’t know his name, but he sure did yell a lot when we first brought him in. We’ve been keeping him sedated, but it’s not working as well as we’d hoped. This is just an extra safeguard.”

Four armed guards wheel in a man strapped down on a gurney with an IV inserted in his arm. He struggles listlessly against the restraints. The man’s chest is bare and Cas can see the raw pink skin where his anti-possession tattoo has mostly been burned off. An anti-possession tattoo Cas used to know by heart.

“Jesus Christ,” he breaths.

It’s Dean.

He feels nauseous. It’d been hard enough when he’d thought Dean was dead, but this is so much worse. He tries to reach out for Dean’s hand, but the guards shuffle him away.

“You don’t need to stick around for this part,” one of the guards says, escorting him out of the cell and forcing him back up the stairs, out of the lab.

When it’s made clear he’s not getting back in, Cas goes back to his room and heads straight for his stash. He spends twenty minutes staring at a vial of prescription painkillers, considering. It would be so easy to down three and float away in a haze of indifference to a place where he’d forget his own name, much less that Dean is possessed by a demon. But…

He flushes the drugs instead and spends the next 24 hours in withdrawal.

-

The next day, Cas argues his way into guard duty.

“I drew that sigil,” Cas says. “If anything goes wrong, I’m the one you want in that cell.”

The colonel eyes him with a look of distain. “Nothing is going to go wrong in there,” he argues. He clearly doesn’t think much of all this mumbo-jumbo, but finally he acquiesces with a grumbled, “You’re one of those boys from Chitaqua, aren’t you? I heard a lot about the freaky shit you boys got up to.” He pauses for a moment and nods his head. “I guess we’re better off safe than sorry.”

-

Cas is there when things do, of course, go wrong. They always do.

He’s been on the duty roster for three weeks before it happens, standing outside Dean’s cell for hours, just holding his gun and waiting, wearing the same gray fatigues he’d seen on Risa just a few months before. Sometimes, he hears the demon shouting for hours with Dean’s voice, swearing vengeance and promising to bring Lucifer himself right to their doorstep.

Cas is always there whenever anyone goes inside the cell, to change the IV sedatives or take samples. On this particular day, Dr. Whyte is taking another set of blood samples. Cas is already a little worried since she’ll have to step into the trap in order to get close enough.

Cas himself checks the restraints, the IV needle, before Dr. Whyte can step up close to the demon. He always does his best not to look in Dean’s eyes, or he might have noticed how much clearer-eyed he is today than any other day. Afterwards, he figures the demon was just biding its time, saving its strength, waiting for enough sulfur to collect in Dean’s veins to overpower the sedative.

Dr. Whyte steps up to the gurney. She turns to the side to ready the needle, concentrating completely on her work, when, with the snap of breaking leather, Dean frees the hand nearest to her and reaches up to wraps his hand around her neck, tightening over her windpipe.

Fisher, Cas partner today in guard duty – who is a corporal or a captain or whatever, he’d told Cas once, but he hadn’t cared about military divisions of rank and he’d forgotten - starts to raise his gun and Cas immediately reaches out to push it back down. The bullet won’t harm the demon, but it will probably kill Dean once the demon’s left his body, if any other injuries the demon is hiding don’t do that first.

Dr. Whyte claws at the hand closed around her throat, but the demon’s preternatural grip doesn’t lessen. Dean mouth tips up into a grin, his eyes jet black.

There’s only one thing Cas can do and the words to the Latin exorcism flow from his lips. Dean’s body writhes against the gurney’s other restraints as the demon inside him is forced to submit to the power behind his words. He remembers the words easily, even though he’s never had cause to use them before. He'd spoken Latin long before English ever existed, learned it first back when the power of his grace had been more than enough to smite a demon. He can’t do that now, can only speak the words he’d helped write thousands of years ago and send the demon back to Hell, where it will be forced to stay for at least a short period of time before Lucifer calls it back to Earth again.

The demon screams out of Dean in a cloud of black smoke, and Dr. Whyte slumps to the ground, gasping, her hand at her throat. Fisher jogs to her side and helps her sit up.

Cas waits, watching the bruises bloom over Dean's chest, the burn mark where his anti-possession tattoo used to be turning an angry, violent red, hoping the damage the demon sustained in Dean’s body isn't too severe for him to survive.

Dean shutters, flinching against the restraints, but his chest continues to rise and fall, not exactly evenly, but strong and constant none the less. A few moments latter, his eyelids flutter.

"Cas," he croaks.

“Dean,” Cas answers, voice just as wreaked as relief floods through him. He steps up to the gurney, feels numb as he runs his fingers lightly down Dean’s skin, mottled by bruises. He reaches across Dean’s chest and fumbles with the buckles to the other restraint around Dean’s wrist.

Dean’s free hand reaching up to tangle in his hair gives him pause. He lets Dean pull his face down, presses his lips against Dean’s own. It’s been so long since he felt anything that wasn’t dulled by drugs or disillusionment, but this kiss- god, this kiss – he can feel it all the way down to his toes. Cas stifles a moan as Dean nips his lower lip, well aware that Fisher and Dr. Whyte are only a few feet away, Fisher radioing for help.

“What was that for?” Cas whispers against Dean’s lips after Dean finally lets him up for air.

“I promised myself that’s what I’d do if I ever saw you again,” Dean answers.

Cas’ eyes flutter shut, and he stays there, his forehead pressed against Dean’s, breathing in the familiar scent of him, until he hears the thump of military boots outside the door as Fisher’s backup arrives.

-

A pair of Dr. Whyte’s lab-coated assistants subject Dean to all the tests they know of to prove that he’s really himself again before they’ll release him to the infirmary. Dr. Whyte has already been there and gone, which Cas is glad about. Dean does not need to feel more guilt at the sight of her bruises.

In addition to his own bruises and the burn marks, Dean has a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder, and a couple of fractured ribs. It’s clear he suffered quite a beating before being possessed. Cas sits beside his bed in the infirmary, Dean’s hand clasped tightly around his.

“You must have a guardian angel looking after you,” a nurse remarks.

“Something like that,” Cas answers for him.

Cas stays with him for the majority of the time Dean spends in infirmary. He sleeps on a cot beside him, but he still has to go to the mess for meals. The nurses don’t comment on the amount of time he spends there, but he realizes they feel more comfortable with Dean when he’s around and he figures they must know all the details of what really happened, demonic possession included.

-

Dr. Whyte comes by to speak with him when Dean is, thankfully, asleep. Her neck is black and blue. She rubs at it self-consciously.

“I wanted to thank you,” she says. “You saved my life.”

Cas shakes his head. “Don’t mention it.” He feels a little guilty that the best way to save her had been a by-product of saving Dean. Afterwards, he’d felt insanely glad that her life had been in danger because it allowed him to get the entire exorcism out. If he’d tried it at any other time, he’s sure someone would have stopped him before he could release their precious demon. “I hope that I didn’t ruin your research.”

She smiles and says, “No. We’re very close to a cure. It would have been nice to have a few more samples, but we’ll manage. Jesse is ecstatic.”

“I’ll bet.”

She smiles again, and ducks her head. “I’ll leave you alone with him again. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Cas nods and watches her leave the room. He’s surprised she didn’t ask the questions she must have about Dean, how he knows him, what’s their history.

He’s never believed in fate – known that destiny was only a human illusion orchestrated by angels – but he wonders if there’s something else in play here. If their profound bond led Dean back to him, the tiny piece of his grace imbedded in Dean’s soul that can’t seem to die despite the disappearance of the rest of it managed to influence the demon inside of him without it ever knowing.

He wonders how he can be so lucky, to lose Dean after pushing him away with a hundred petty fights, intentionally brutal words, and get him back again after so much, alive.

He stroke a hand over Dean’s jaw. Dean turns his head to lean into the movement and blinks open his eyes. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” Cas answers.

Dean grins and says. “I missed you, you know.”

“Me too,” Cas answers.

“Do you think we could – you and me – try again?” Dean asks, his green eyes clear and bright, completely himself, as he stares up into Cas’ blue ones. “I know we fought a lot, but…”

He trails off as Cas leans in to kiss him, lets that be answer enough. Dean obviously gets it, his hand coming up to rest on Cas’ neck, pulling him in closer.

Which is, of course, exactly when Risa walks in. She makes a wounded noise in the back of her throat and Dean and Cas pull guiltily apart. “So, so did not need visual confirmation that the two of you are together again,” she says, holding her hand over her eyes. “I’m leaving now to go shoot things and get the image of you two out of my head, but word of warning, Chuck is coming by in about five minutes, so you might not want to scar him too.”

When Chuck arrives, he looks around forlornly for Risa. “Risa couldn’t make it?” he asks.

“Is there a reason she’d be in the infirmary? Did _she_ get beat up and then possessed by a demon?” Dean asks, petulantly.

“Are you pouting?”

“No,” Dean answers, though clearly, he is.

“He’s just upset you seem to care more about hitting on Risa than the fact he’s hurt,” Cas says as Dean glares at him. Cas suspects he’s more annoyed about Risa and Chuck interrupting what was about to be an epic make out session. Chuck doesn’t seem to notice. “Right, Dean?”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean answers sarcastically. “That’s it exactly.”

“Oh, right. It’s good to see you’re not dead, Dean,” Chuck says. “Did you know they have working toilets here?”

“Working toilets,” Dean repeats blandly. He obviously doesn’t share Chuck’s enthusiasm. “That’s nice.”

“Have you heard about the mess hall? They have thousands of cans just of vegetables alone. Do you know how long it’s been since I ate something besides spam?”

“Hey,” Dean asks when Chuck finally leaves after waxing poetic about canned green beans and his plans to start an organic vegetable garden on the base for another twenty minutes, “do you think we can get out of here?”

“You mean you don’t want to wait for Risa to come visit you tomorrow and spend the whole visit talking about her guns? They gave her new ones when they let her join the army, you know.”

“Nope, really don’t need to hear about that,” Dean says. “Time to go.”

“You’ll have to stay with me,” Cas says, unsure. “My bed is very small.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Dean says, brushing his hand across Cas’ thigh, inches from his cock.

Cas rolls his eyes, but this doesn’t stop him from leaning slightly into Dean’s hand. “Clearly I would like to have sex with you. I meant that you’re injured. I’d prefer not to hurt you any further.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it,” Dean says with an assured grin.

-

They pass Jesse in the hall. “Hey Cas,” he says.

“Jesse,” Cas nods in return.

Dean stares back at him for a few paces. “Wasn’t that the squirt who turned you into a knife-wielding action figure?”

“I’d rather not to talk about that. But yes.”

“What’s he doing here? I thought he could be, like, anywhere he imagined.”

Cas had already explained about Dr. Whyte’s research, so he simply answers, “He’s helping Dr. Whyte. He’s immune to the virus.”

Dean just grins. “I told you the antichrist could be a good guy.”

Cas rolls his eyes and opens the door to his small bedroom. “This is it,” he says.

Dean glances around, taking in the gray cement block walls, the small bed that’s not much more than a cot really, and Cas’ tiny desk, covered in loose drawings. Dean makes a beeline for them. “Did you draw these?” he asks, leafing through Cas’ latest sketchbook. “These’re really good,” he says, impressed.

Cas shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “They’re no big deal. Mostly just sigils and anti-possession tattoos.”

“Yeah? Maybe you can design me a new one,” Dean says, shrugging out of his shirt. The tortured skin where the old one used to be is covered in bright, white gauze. Most of the bruises are still visible. Cas tentatively traces a deep purple one on Dean’s abdomen. Dean holds still and lets Cas touch him, staring down at his hand with hooded eyes.

“Does this hurt?”

“You remember when you broke your foot and how uncomfortable it was when we tried to have sex, but you demanded I sleep with you anyway? Yeah, this is just like that.”

Cas frowns, and presses against the bruise with a bit more pressure. Dean flinches. “I don’t think so,” he answers. “This is much worse than just an inconvenient cast.”

Dean pouts as Cas draws him into a kiss and leads him to the bed. He gently pushes Dean down to sit on the edge of the bed and drops to his knees in front of him, hands on his thighs.

“I think this is all you’re up for today,” Cas says.

“I’m cool with a blowjob,” Dean answers, “but what about you?”

Cas glares up at him, his hands on button of Dean’s jeans. “You can worry about me,” he says, “tomorrow. Now sit back and shut up.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” Dean grins.

-

Afterwards, Cas tries to sleep on the floor to keep from hurting Dean during the night.

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Cas’ hand. “Get up here,” he demands. “We’ll fit.”

Cas takes twenty minutes arranging Dean to his satisfaction until he’s sure he’s not going to inadvertently elbow him when he’s asleep. “Is this okay?” he asks for the fifth time.

“God, yes. Just cut it out already. You’re making me nervous.”

Cas sighs and settles onto his side, Dean’s uninjured shoulder pressing against his chest. Dean leans over and presses a kiss to his lips.

“What happens now?” he asks.

Cas shrugs. “We keep fighting, like we did before,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Dean sighs. “I lost the rings,” he says. “I don’t think we’re going to get another shot at Lucifer. We’re running out of time.”

“I’m not so sure. Dr. Whyte told me that with my blood and yours, they’re just days away from a breakthrough on the Croatoan cure.”

Dean would love a respite from the damn Croats, but he’s sure that Lucifer and his minions will just come up with another plague, another disaster to kill off as many humans as possible. “But Lucifer is still out there, and that demon. We’re probably going to be one of their first targets now. With Lucifer walking around, they don’t seem to be spending a long time in Hell.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not worried. Let them come.”

“Never pegged you for the optimist.”

Cas nuzzles his nose against Dean’s skin. “I got you back. I’ll believe in anything we can do.”

Dean shoulder bounces against Cas’ chest. Cas looks up and narrows his eyes.

“Are you laughing?” he demands.

“It’s just – that was such… oh god, did you really have to say that?” Dean explains through his laughs.

“Fine,” Cas corrects in an annoyed, monotone tone. “You’re just so macho, you can do anything.”

Dean only laughs harder at that.

Cas rolls his eyes and moves away as far as the tiny bed will allow. “Shut up.”

A few minutes later, after his laughs have finally subsided, Dean leans back in, invading what little space Cas has left between him and the wall. Dean presses a kiss against his collarbone. “Cas,” he whispers in a low, sleepy voice, “I love you too.”

Cas smiles into the darkness.


End file.
